


I See Fire

by zeta_leonis



Category: Silence (2016)
Genre: Anal Sex, Explicit-ish sex, I used their names how I would spell them, I'm sorry if this is offensive, M/M, Reunions, Riding, also i'm a sinner, and this is pure sin, lovemaking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-28
Updated: 2017-05-28
Packaged: 2018-11-06 00:52:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11025141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zeta_leonis/pseuds/zeta_leonis
Summary: Now I see fire, inside the mountainI see fire, burning the treesAnd I see fire, hollowing soulsAnd I see fire, blood in the breezeAnd I hope that you'll remember me___________AU in which they both return safely, and unexpectedly run into each other, leading them to fulfill their need to leave a permanent imprint on each other's skin.





	I See Fire

**Author's Note:**

> As soon as this movie finished I knew I HAD to write this, but I was unsure of it. I wanted to get the characterization right, though I don't really think I did, only a more objective mind will tell.  
> The reason why I didn't add internalised homophobia is because I believe that they were in love, and when you see the one you love alive after you thought them dead, you don't really spend too much time thinking about the unholy aspects of it.

It’s been so long, he can barely remember what he looks like like this, clean shaven, barren of any facial hair, nails clean and shiny, skin smooth and glowing. Sebastian almost refuses to believe it’s him, waving at him from the other side of the port. Then they get closer, and yes, it is him, and they run to each other then, everybody else forgotten. When they meet, they embrace each other in such a long and passionate moment that anybody would have thought they were lovers. Sebastian has his arms around Garupe’s neck, and Francisco’s arms encircle Rodrigues’ waist, both of them holding each other so tightly it is starting to hurt, but they are uncaring. This, this moment, this is what finally felt like coming back home. Neither of them thought they would be able to hold each other like this again, and now that they are, it feels almost unreal. 

For a moment, for the duration of their embrace, there are no sounds but that of their own breathing, all sensation falls away but for the pressure they each feel from the other, their strength returning to them because of each other’s presence, rejuvenating and invigorating, filling them with a new hope. 

“I thought I’d lost you,” Rodrigues whispers, not pulling away, unable to be seperate from him again. “I thought I’d never see you again.”

“My greatest happiness since I left Japan has been finding you.” Garupe replies, and there are no more words they can say to each other, nothing else to express their feelings in this moment. 

When they do come apart, they look each other in the eyes, and suddenly they are filled with a mixture of both shock and wonder, of overwhelming feelings of love and pain and happiness. In each other’s eyes they see all they suffered together, they see all their trials and tribulations, every minute they have passed together, every second they have been in each other’s presence. They say nothing, but in their eyes, all has been said. 

 

**__________**

 

They must spend the night in this port town in Spain before they begin their journey to their church in Portugal.

They eat supper together, holding hands, in a calm silence. The inn that they are staying in is small, and humble, and though some give them odd looks, none are disapproving because one look at these men reveals all their perilous experiences, and, until one lives it, none can judge them. 

They share a room that night, and they relish the privacy, the tranquility. The last time they shared a room was in that hut in Tomogi, and there, they had one moment of intimacy in which they remained completely silent for fear of being heard. That had been the first time since they were young students to partake in sexual intimacy, to give in to desire. Back then, when they were young, they had not made a celibacy vow. In Tomogi, he had, and yet he could not overcome the urge, the carnal desire. It was the night before they parted ways, and they needed the feeling of flesh on flesh to remain, forever, for as long as possible. 

They are the only ones staying at the inn for the night, so once they both step into their room and close the door, they look at each other for long. Rodrigues can tell Garupe has seen it all, he can tell in the wrinkles under his eyes that were not there before, he can see the despair and sadness in every crease of his skin, in the way his eyes widen like he's never seen Rodrigues before, in his every move and breath. 

Francisco reaches a hand to Sebastian’s cheek, cupping it with his hand as delicately as he would a flower, admiring its beauty but never harming it. 

“You are still the man I fell in love with, after all these years.” he whispers, making Sebastian look away in embarrassment mostly, but partly out of shame. 

“Don't -” Sebastian wants to start, but Francisco interrupts him. 

“I will not hold back a single word of feeling,” he steps closer to the younger missionary. “Never again, not as long as I get to hold you in my arms and keep you with me.” 

Sebastian says nothing, is incapable of saying anything, feeling breathless after such words. 

Then, suddenly, they are kissing. Neither of them knows who initiated it, they just know that they  _ did,  _ and that they are currently moving back until Sebastian’s legs hit the bed. They fall on it, still kissing, groping at each other desperately. 

They separate briefly to remove themselves of their clothing and move up the bed, but then they are kissing again. They sit on the bed, hands trailing each other's bodies, trying to get to as much naked skin as possible, trying to reach for something that will ground them. Their fumbling hands do eventually reach in between each other’s legs, and Sebastian is the first to gasp, breaking the kiss and breathing into Francisco’s mouth, his own hand going limp at this sudden feeling of electricity all over his body at the first touch of Francisco’s skin on his own after so long. 

Francisco moves his hand away and Sebastian lets out  a small, brief whine. This is the first time in at least fifteen years that he's made noise during sex, and it embarrasses him deeply, so much so that his cheeks turn red and he looks away. 

“Do not be ashamed,” Francisco kisses him, offering a smile of reassurance. 

The older one of the two takes Sebastian’s hips in his hands and pulls him up so that he's on his knees with each knee on either side of Francisco’s legs. 

Everything after happens too fast for Sebastian to really get a grip of: there's a vial of oil, fingers, a stretching sensation that makes him moan in both pleasure and pain, all coupled with Francisco's eyes boring a hole into his very soul and his lips pressing burning kisses all over his chest. Fingers are sliding out, Francisco is whispering words of love and devotion, his body is moving on its own and oh, oh,  _ oh-  _

It is the first time Francisco has been inside him for the better part of a decade and it feels like the first time, new and unyielding, burning hot, flames licking at the inside of his veins, his body turning soot black from sin and guilt and lust. 

Sebastian throws his head back as he sinks down, slowly, and Garupe’s fingers tighten on his hips, as if he wants to make himself believe that this is real, that his lover is real, that this is happening. 

He stops then, and breathes, lets out a long huff of air and then begins breathing rapidly, on the verge of hyperventilation. It’s so painful, the stretch almost too much after so long. His body is not what it used to be, pliant and willing. Now he is rough edges and bony limbs, hard-set and rigid where he was once malleable and soft. 

“Francisco,” Sebastian whispers, the only word that makes any sense to him anymore. 

“I’ve got you,” the other man replies, holding his hips just enough to let himself have some control over their movements. 

Rodrigues closes his eyes and takes a moment, trying to accommodate to the feeling, trying to get a hold of his surroundings, of all he’s feeling, of the person before him that is making his heart beat like bird’s flutter, threatening to beat out of his ribcage. He feels his pulse everywhere: his throat, his chest, his stomach, every single joint in his body. His whole head feels like it’s pounding, expanding and compressing to keep up with his body’s own adjustment to this new, burning, stretching, breathtaking intrusion. 

Garupe is not left out of this. He too must cope, he too is trying to wrap his head around the feeling of Sebastian wrapping around him. Like his lover, he has not felt this way for years, at least physically. Emotionally? Their love has done nothing but grow. Francisco does all he can, exercises his self-restraint fully so as to not grip Sebastian’s hips and begin pushing into him wildly, like a mad, desperate animal. 

Rodrigues then uses all his strength and energy to will his legs to push him upwards, just for a fraction, just a minuscule amount; and in that microscopic space between them, lost words, unsaid feelings and far too meaningful looks of love all spill into the gargantuan gap left between their skin. He then comes down again, and gasps once more, unused to the sensation yet craving more. He pours his heart into moving, sets his mind, body and soul into the task of giving and receiving pleasure unlike anything he has ever done before. Sebastian would like to say that his own spirituality and that of others is the cause he is the most devoted to, but he would be lying, because this, right now, is his single most devoted cause, his greatest feat and proudest accomplishment.

Francisco then makes a keening sound, something high in pitch and low in tune that neither of them has ever heard and yet drink in like water in a desert. Sebastian longs for more of it and the other priest delivers, making more and more sounds in time with Rodrigues’ own whimpers with every push and pull. 

“Come here,” Francisco whispers, voice hoarse and rough, almost coarse on his lover’s newly washed body, the words almost leaving red imprints on the pale skin. Sebastian complies, stopping his movements for a fraction of a second to lean forward, caught immediately by Garupe’s long arms that encircle him and pull him close. 

“Do you trust me?” the taller priest asks, leaning their foreheads together, looking Rodrigues dead in the eyes, drinking in all he is, every single glint in his eyes and every single shimmer, every change in brightness and hue. 

Rodrigues thinks not about it, does not consider any other possible answer. “With my life.”

Francisco groans and leans forward to connect their lips, tightening his grip on Sebastian’s hips and pulling him closer as Rodrigues wraps his arms around his shoulders. 

Garupe leans onto his side, laying them down so that they’re facing each other. He thrusts shallowly, just enough to keep the energy flowing between them. 

Sebastian ends up on his back, Francisco leaning over him. The latter puts his hands on Sebastian’s thighs, applying light pressure. Sebastian blushes and looks away when he spreads his legs, making space for Garupe, cocooning him by wrapping his legs around his lover’s waist. When Francisco pushes in again, Sebastian does not gasp, he breathes deeply and wraps his arms around Francisco, pulling him close. Never before have they done it like this, have they faced each other, turning away before in shame. They had a similar dynamic, though. Francisco Garupe is like lead, dense, thick-skulled, stubborn when he takes up a new idea, yet soft and malleable, able to bend around the hard-set ideals he must live up to. Sebastian Rodrigues is like iron. He is thinner, harder, more durable, harder to bend to the will of men. He is also lighter, with a warm heart, wrought around the principles he will give his life to defend. 

The thrusting resumes, but it’s sped up, faster, harder, a mix of desperation and relief, a feeling of wanting to make sure that the other is there, that this is  _ real  _ and  _ happening  _ and that neither of them will wake up nor disappear. 

Sebastian’s whimpers grow louder, wanting - needing - more, more, all of it, everything Francisco can give; but he doesn’t ask for it. How can he? All his life, accustomed to give, to give each part of himself to others and then some. Rarely he takes; never, some would believe, and never something like this, never pleasure, this highly sinful pleasure. 

He tries to make Francisco know what he wants by tightening his legs like one would do to a horse and raking his nails down Francisco’s back, but it is in vain. Garupe is lost in his own pleasure as well, lost in the admiration of the man beneath him, lost to sound and stimulation. 

So, Sebastian is left to confront his own embarrassment and get over it. “More,” he whispers crudely, the word burning his throat and scorching his tongue, filling his mouth with searing heat. He sees Francisco’s eyes twinkle with a new light as he processes the words, akin to the dancing of flames. “More, more - I -”

“Everything,” is the response he receives, leaving burn marks in its wake, destructive like a firestorm, heating Sebastian from the inside out, striking his heart at its core. “I will give you  _ everything. _ ”

Sebastian can do nothing, feeling like a mountain of ashes that move to the wind’s will; and oh, Francisco is not wind, but a hurricane. 

Garupe thrusts harder now, pistoning into Sebastian like he wanted to from the beginning. Rodrigues takes it, takes it all, wanting to consume Francisco like a fire, wanting to be taken like a forest that turns to nothing but ash and dust. 

“Francisco,” is all Rodrigues can say, his mind, his  _ body, his soul  _ filled to the brim with Francisco, with his essence and his life. “Oh, Francisco,  _ I _ -” 

“Sebastian,” Francisco gives a particularly hard thrust to a particular spot that makes Sebastian spontaneously combust, now burning from the inside out, crying out in hot, intense pleasure. And another one, and another one. “Sebastian, love, my love -”

All they can feel is fire, burning, heat. The pleasure is so intense it feels like it's melting the skin and flesh and muscle off their bones, charring them and turning them black, what's left of them ashes scattered over the bed and sheets and out the window. Their cries, the crackling of fire; their increased desperate movements, the dancing of flames. This moment burns behind their eyelids, the memory set in fire in their hearts, never to be forgotten, the scar to remain until they turn to dust. 

And then, they calm. It all loses intensity, desperation giving way, letting the cavity left in its wake be filled by serenity. Their breath comes out in pants, smoke left after the sweeping fire.

They turn to each other, under the sheets after they have cleaned up. Francisco looks Rodrigues in the eyes and combs locks of hair out of his eyes. 

“It’s shorter now,” he says, and pushes the brown hair back. “I haven’t seen it this short in years.”

Sebastian laughs, reaching a hand up to cup Francisco’s face. “And  _ you’ve  _ shaved. You look younger.”

“You’ve shaved too.” Francisco grins and presses a kiss to his temple. 

Sebastian stops laughing, but smiles still. “I love you.”

Francisco’s grin grows wider. “Be careful, those are dangerous words.”

“I’ve played with far more dangerous things.”

“I love you too.”

 

**__________**

 

“Goodnight,” Francisco whispers, but Sebastian puts a finger to his lips.

“Do not,” Sebastian says, looking up at him with red-rimmed eyes. “Do not part with me ever again, be it in this way or otherwise. I cannot bear that again, not for a moment, not now that I have found you again.”


End file.
